


Reunions

by Sparkly_Eevee



Category: Burn Notice, Marvel Avengers Movies Universe
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, TonyStarkisafraidofbees
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-08
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 19:34:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/506973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparkly_Eevee/pseuds/Sparkly_Eevee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony Stark is Nate Westen's biological father.  Madeline decides that now is the right time to tell Nate (and Tony) that this is the case.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Other characters and relationships will appear than the ones currently in the tags, but I don't want to give anything away, so they will be added at the same time as the first chapter in which they appear.

Michael wasn’t sure what woke him up at first.  Startled and a little disoriented, he grabbed the gun from under his pillow and pointed it at the door before realizing that it was his phone ringing.  Trying (and failing) to move carefully so he wouldn’t wake Fiona up, he picked it up from next to the bed.

“Hello?”

“Michael,” it was Madeline, “I need you to come over right now.  It’s important.”

“Actually important, or did your coffee maker break again?”

“It’s about your brother.”

“What did he do this time?”

“He didn’t _do_ anything, Michael.  Just get over here as soon as you can.” She hung up.

“What’s going on?”  Fiona asked.

“My mom called.  Apparently there’s something _important_ going on and I have to go over there right away.  Something about my brother.”

“Sounds like you could use some backup.”

“He probably just needs to borrow money or something.”

“Or he might really be in trouble.”

“I don’t want to drag you into my family stuff, Fi.”

“You’re not...I’m coming with you, and that’s final.”

“Fine, we’ll take my car.”

* * *

 

Nate was already sitting at the kitchen table when they go there.  

“Hey,” he said, “do you know what this is about?  Mom said she had something to tell me, but that it had to wait until you got here.”

“No idea,” Michael took off his sunglasses, “it’s all a big mystery.”

“Now you know how it feels,” Madeline set a pitcher of iced tea down on the table.  “Hi, Fiona.  I’m glad you came.  You’re practically part of the family now anyway.”

Fiona gave Michael a look, “See?  You’re not dragging me in.”

Michael ignored her, “So, what’s the big surprise?”

“I’ve been waiting for the right time to tell you this.  Maybe I should have said something a long time ago, or maybe I shouldn’t be bringing it up at all, but...” she paused dramatically, “Nate,  Frank wasn’t your father.  Not...biologically, anyway.”

There were blank stares from everyone for a solid 20 seconds before Nate said “He wasn’t?”  

“Mom,” said Michael, “Nate is like dad was in so many ways...are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” Madeline took a drag off her cigarette, “Does it really surprise you that much that I have a type, Michael?”

“So...if Dad wasn’t my dad...who was?” Nate shook his head as though he had an insect lodged in his ear.

“Tony Stark.”

“Are you _serious_?”

“Entirely.  We met, well, your age plus nine months ago.  He was down here for some tech conference thing.”

Michael did some quick mental math, “Tony Stark would have been about 16 then...”

“Well I didn’t know that at the time.  He was in college!”

“And you...there is no part of this that I want to think about.”

“So,” said Nate, “why are you telling me this now?”

“Because after...I know none of you follow the news much, but after what happened in New York last month, it seemed like the right time.  And Nate, I thought it...might be good for you to know...now that you’re a father yourself.”

“So,” Fiona sounded unduly excited, “you’re going to, what, ring the doorbell of Stark Tower and tell Tony Stark ‘Hey, congratulations, you’re a father’?”

“Because there’s no way that could go wrong,” Michael said darkly.  He couldn’t quite put a finger on what was bothering him about the situation, but he knew that it was there.  He didn’t want Tony Stark to be Nate’s father, and if that had to be reality, he didn’t want to interact with that reality any more than he had to.

“Well I’m all for it.  I think it’ll be fun.”

“I’m glad _someone_ does,” said Madeline, “because we’re all going to New York next week. I bought the plane tickets last night.”

* * *

 

Out of sheer paranoid habit, Michael didn’t tell Jesse where they were going, or why, when he asked if they could get a ride to the airport.  Jesse, out of more than a year of working with Michael, didn’t ask, and only said “Y’all have fun on your little family vacation or whatever.” when he dropped them off.  

There was something surreal for Michael about going through airport security as himself.  He kept expecting someone to stop him, to realize that he was _the_ Michael Westen and try to kill him for something he’d done.  

Fiona was just unhappy about having to put her guns in her checked baggage.

“I’m not surprised,” she said softly to Michael, once they had cleared security and were waiting near the gate “that you and Nate aren’t full siblings. But...Tony Stark...  Next thing, you’re going to tell me that you faced off against the Black Widow during the ‘90s.”

“Not that I know of...”

“Hi.  What’d I miss?”  Sam sat down on the other side of Michael.

Michael and Fiona both stared at Sam for a second.

“Sam,” Michael smiled as though someone had offered to let him touch their pet slug, “what are you doing here?”

“You didn’t really think I’d let you guys have all the fun, did you?  I had one of my buddies check which flight you were gonna be on.”

“I already think this is a bad idea.  You don’t just go up to a billionaire and say ‘here’s your illegitimate child’.”

“All the more reason you need backup.”  At this, Michael looked exasperatedly at Sam, and then at Fiona, and then back at Sam.  “Plus I hear the Black Widow is smokin’ hot.”

Fiona rolled her eyes.

“Now boarding zone four. Attention, we are now boarding all zones through zone four.”

“This is us.”

The plane ride was more or less as all plane rides are.  Michael and Sam looked over a stack of files with information about Stark Industries.  Fiona read the latest issue of _Guns & Ammo.  _Madeline mostly just chewed nicotine gum and occasionally complained about not being able to smoke on the plane.  Nate stared out the window, apparently lost in thought.  

They called for a cab, because they needed on of the larger ones to fit all five of them.  No one spoke on the way to Stark Tower.  The building was still being repaired, and only the “A” in “Stark” was still there.  As they entered the lobby the assumed a kind of natural formation with Madeline at the front, Michael and Nate flanking her and Fiona and Sam behind them.  The bored looking young man behind the desk didn’t look up or otherwise acknowledge their presence until Madeline spoke to him.

“Hi,” she said, “I’m Madeline Westen.  We’re here to meet with Mr. Stark"


	2. Chapter 2

“Barton?”

“Westen?”

“Tony!”

“Madeline?!”

            “I’m surprised you remember me,” said Madeline, lighting a cigarette, “we met once, 30 years ago.”

“Mrs. Westen, please don’t smoke in here,” said Pepper.  She had shown them to the living room, or at least _a_ living room in the residential part of Stark Tower.  The only Avengers currently present were Tony Stark himself and a young man sitting on the arm of a couch (right next to an unoccupied cushion) who Michael knew as Clint Barton and who, he realized, must be Hawkeye.

“What the hell are you doing here, Westen?”  Clint asked.

“I could ask you the same thing.  The last time I saw you, you swore you were never, ever, going to leave the Army.”

“And the last time I saw you, you were getting ready to go skulking around in parts unknown.  Times change.”

“You know Hawkeye?” said Nate incredulously.

“I know Clint Barton, an upstart pain in my ass who is also, unfortunately, the most gifted sniper I have ever met.”

“Better than _you_?”

“Not that you’d ever hear him admit it.”                     

“We served together in Somalia in the early ‘90s.”

“This just keeps getting more complicated.” Sam remarked to no one in particular.

“Not that this isn’t fascinating,” said Tony, “but who _are_ all you people?”

    Madeline opened her mouth to answer, but before she said anything, a red haired woman came out of one of the innumerable doors connecting to the one they were in.  She was still wearing a set of black satin pajamas, despite it being almost noon, but she was clearly wide awake.  “Hey,” she said, “what’s with all the...Michael?!”  
    “Natalya...” Michael looked around the room, apparently trying to find cover.    
    “I don’t know whether to kiss you or shoot you.”  
    “I struggle with that decision every day,” said Fiona nonchalantly, “and neither, he’s mine.  Michael,” she added, “who is this?”  
    “Wait,” said Clint, “Tasha, how do you know Westen?”  
    “Uh,” Tony put in, “can we talk about how a one night stand from when I was in college is standing in my living room?”  
    Pepper appeared in the doorway.  “Clearly you _all,_ ” she paused, looking at the assembled multitudes, “have a lot to talk about.  How about you do it in the kitchen, where there are things like chairs, and coffee.”  
    “Coffee,” said Tony.  
    “Do you have iced tea?”  
    “Certainly, Mr. Westen.”  
    “Aren’t you like, the CEO of Stark Industries?” asked Nate, “Why are you serving coffee?”  
    Pepper smiled brightly, “Did it occur to you that I _like_ serving coffee?”  
    Nate blinked several times and then said, “No, no it didn’t.”  
    The kitchen contained a large table with chairs all around it, and everyone except Pepper sat down, including a man with glasses and a purple shirt, who entered the room wordlessly and sat down next to Tony.  Pepper got coffee for everyone except Michael, and then poured Tony a glass of scotch as well.    
    “So, now will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?” Tony asked.  
    “Tony,” said Madeline, “how much do you remember about the night we spent together?”  
    Tony glanced nervously at Pepper, and then at the man sitting next to him.  
    “What am I going to do,” he asked, “get jealous?”  
    Tony laughed at that and seemed to relax a little, “Honestly...not a whole lot.  I was pretty drunk.  I remember you were hot, in a MILF sort of way.  You were already gone when I got up in the morning, which made things simpler.  What are you getting at here?”  
    “Well, six weeks after that I found out I was pregnant.”  
    No one said anything for several seconds.  Tony’s eyes flicked back and forth between Michael, Nate, and Fiona.  Clint pulled his legs up so he was more perching than sitting in his chair.  Pepper looked inexplicably amused.  Eventually Tony said “Please tell me it’s not the tall, brooding one.”  
    “It’s not,” said Nate, “it’s me.  Hi, I’m Nate.”  
    “Hi...” said Tony, “so, who are all the rest of you?”  
    “This is Michael, Nate’s older brother,” said Madeline, “that’s Fiona, Michael’s girlfriend, and that’s Sam, he’s a friend of Michael’s.”  
    “I wasn’t planning to bring them,” Michael said, “it just sort of happened.”  
    “Okay,” said Tony, taking a sip of his scotch, “why should I believe you. You’re not the first woman to tell me I fathered her illegitimate child.”  
    “Why would I lie?!” asked Madeline, outraged, “It’s not like I’m asking you for money, I just thought the two of you should meet, finally.  You have a grandson now, too, you know.”  
    “Tony,” said Pepper, “she’s telling the truth.”  
     “Hang on a second...you _knew_ about this?”  
    “Tony, it’s my _job_ to know about things like this.”  
    “And you didn’t tell me because...”  
    “What would you have done if I’d told you?”  
    “I would have...” he trailed off, “okay, good point.”  
    “There’s an easy way to settle this, “ said the man in the purple shirt, “I can compare your DNA.  With the equipment in the lab it’ll only take about 30 minutes to run the test.”  
    “Okay,” said Tony and Nate at the same time.  
    “Now that’s just creepy,” said Sam.  
    “There is a real resemblance,” said Fiona thoughtfully, “a certain rakish charm...”  
    “Bruce,” said Natasha, who everyone had more or less forgotten was in the room, “why don’t you take Nate and Tony up to the lab now.”  
    Tony, Bruce, Pepper, Nate and Madeline all left the room.  
    “Okay, Michael,” Natasha looked at him the way a cat looks out an open window at a bird, “we need to talk.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sincere thanks to my friend, confidant, and sometime editor, Audra. I couldn’t do it without you.

 

“Open your mouth,” Bruce ran a cotton swab along the inside of Nate’s cheek, “now you,” he did the same to Tony.

            “So you’re...Bruce Banner, right?,” asked Nate.

            “That’s me.”

            “He still doesn’t like people knowing who he is,” said Tony, “even though that ‘keeping a low profile’ thing pretty much stopped working once he beat up a metal alien fish in the middle of Manhattan.”

            “I maintain it would be safer for all concerned if my identity wasn’t generally known.”  Bruce dipped each cotton swab in a vial of liquid, then put the vials into a machine.  The machine beeped and started whirring.  

            “Well, when you’re involved with someone as impressive as me, people are going to notice you.”

            “Hang on,” said Nate, “when you say involved...”

            “I mean _involved,_ ” said Tony calmly.  

            “You’re gay?”

            “Bisexual, actually, but I’m not a big fan of labels.”

            “ _I’m_ gay,” said Bruce.

            “Mostly,” corrected Tony.

            “Mostly.”

            “This...is a lot to take in.”

            “I know,” Tony took a large sip of his scotch.

            “I mean...I wouldn’t have thought...I woulda figured if either one of us wasn’t related to Dad, it would have been Michael.  He’s the one who...”

            “Who what?,” said Madeline.

            Nate hesitated.  Before he could answer, Tony turned to Madeline “Why didn’t _you_ tell me?,” he asked.

            “You would have been more willing to believe me when I had a new baby than you are now?”

            “I had a right to know.”

            “Tony,” said Pepper, “you wouldn’t have cared.”

            “I have a question,” said Nate, “why didn’t you tell _me_?”

            “What difference would it have made?”  said Madeline defensively.

            “It would have made a difference because maybe if I’d known that...that...” he trailed off, trying to find the right words.

            “That what?”

            “That I didn’t have to be a loser.  That everything that Dad was wasn’t...written into my DNA.  Maybe...I dunno.  Maybe things would have turned out differently.”

            “Of course you didn’t have to...turn out like you did.”

            “Yeah?  Well it didn’t feel that way.  Everyone always knew that Michael was special, that he was smart, that one way or another he was going on to do something that mattered.  Me?  I was just another messed up kid from a broken home.”

            “Maybe things _would_ have turned out differently.”  Madeline put out her cigarette on one of the lab benches and lit another one, “Everything I’ve done, Nate, every decision that I’ve made, I’ve done what I thought was best for our family.  I was probably wrong, some of the time, but I did what I thought was best, and I stand by it.”

            “I’m with him on this,” said Tony, “what exactly did you hope to accomplish by letting him believe a painful lie when, in an astronomically improbable turn of events, the truth would have made him happier?”

            “Don’t.  You.  Dare,” said Madeline, “You have _no_ idea what it’s like trying to keep a family together.  Do you even _have_ a family?  Or did they just, I don’t know, grow you in a vat somewhere?”

            “Not to speak of.  My parents died in an accident when I was 17.”

            “I’m sorry.  I didn’t know.”

            “Really?,” Tony looked genuinely surprised, “it was in the newspaper.”

            “Not everyone reads every single thing the media says about you,”  Bruce had stopped messing with the machines, which were now showing numbers changing very fast on a display screen.

            “What, you mean I’m _not_ the most important thing in everyone’s universe?”

            “Just mine.”

            “You two are adorable,” said Madeline.  

            “ _Mom!_ ”

            “What?  I think it’s sweet.  It’s not often you see _any_ couple expressing affection for each other like that anymore.”

            _Ding!_

            “That’ll be the test results,” said Bruce, “you ready?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up next: Natasha and Michael have their "talk".


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations of the Russian in this chapter can be found in the end notes.

Previously:

_“So...if Dad wasn’t my dad...who was?”_

_“Tony Stark.”_

_“Are you serious?”_

 

_“Barton?”_

_“Westen?”_

_“Tony!”_

_“Madeline?!”_

_“Natalya..."_

_“Uh, can we talk about how a one night stand from when I was in college is standing in my living room?”_

_“Why didn’t_ you _tell me?”  
_

_“I have a question, why didn’t you tell_ me _?”_

_“Everything I’ve done, Nate, every decision that I’ve made, I’ve done what I thought was best for our family."_

_“Okay, Michael,” Natasha looked at him the way a cat looks out an open window at a bird, “we need to talk.”_

* * *

 

"Okay,” said Michael as nonchalantly as he could, “what do you want to talk about?”

“We never really had a conversation about what happened in Abakan.”

“That’s because you tried to _kill_ me!”

She looked at him pointedly. “You deserved it.”

“I _deserved_ to get shot with a mac-10?!”

“Yes.”

He thought about it for a minute.  “Okay, fair enough.”

“Must have been pretty bad,” said Fiona, “Michael almost never admits he was wrong.”

“You have no idea,” said Natasha, “we were together for almost two years.  Then he turned out to be an American spy sent to investigate the organization I was working with.”

“Oh, honey.  Believe me, I know that one.”

Natasha raised her eyebrows, “Really?  Why didn’t you kill him then, you seem more than capable.”

“I was in a forgiving mood.”

“See, Mikey,” said Sam, “this is why you can’t let them get in the same room.”

“I didn’t exactly plan this,” said Michael.  “And you know, Natalya, for what it’s worth you were investigating me, too.”

“I was, at the beginning.  But then I dropped it.  I swore to my organization that you couldn’t be the infamous Michael Westen, because he’d never make the mistake of getting so _intimate_ with an enemy operative.  When I reported to them that I’d been wrong, and that you’d gotten away, they...informed me that they were no longer in need of my services.”

Michael raised his eyebrows, “How did you make it out alive?”

“I’m good at what I do.”

“So, Michael,” said Fi,  “when you told me that you didn’t know the Black Widow...”

“I didn’t know that she was the Black Widow.  Or that she was alive, Fi, she was 19 the last time we saw each other!”

“Это потому, что ты никогда не искал мне.”[1]

“Не правда! Я вернулся, и ты ушли.” [2]

“Я не верю тебе. Michael Westen не сентиментальны. Когда он не может использовать вас больше он забывает о тебе.” [3]

“Наташенька...” [4]

“Don’t call me that.”

Michael looked startled and momentarily hurt, but he quickly adopted a sarcastic smile, “What should I call you then?  Natalya Alianovna?”  

“‘Natasha’ is fine.”

“‘Natasha’ it is.”

“I didn’t follow all of that,” said Clint, “but from what I did...that doesn’t sound like you, Westen.”

“Which part?”

“What she said.”

“Times change.”

“What the hell happened?

“Real life.”

No one said anything for a few seconds.

“Michael,” said Fiona finally, “can I talk to you outside for a minute?”

Michael looked nervously at Natasha, as though she might spring once his back was turned.  “Sure,” he pulled on the sliding door that led out to a small balcony, but it wouldn’t open.  He pulled harder, then checked for a lock he hasn’t seen, but there wasn’t anything other than an unmarked black pad on the wall with a small red LED light.  “The door’s stuck,” he said.

“It’s not stuck,” said Clint, “it’s got a genetic lock so it’ll only open for people who live here or select employees.  Here,” he licked the back of his coffee spoon and threw it at the pad, hitting it in the exact center.  The little light turned green and the door clicked open.  

“Thanks,” said Michael.

Out on the balcony, Fiona crossed her arms and looked at him pointedly, “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“About me and Natalya?”

“Yes.”

“It was a long time ago, Fi, it’s in the past.  I didn’t think it was important.  Why would I have told you?”

“Because that’s what you _do_ in a relationship, Michael, you tell each other things!”

Michael thought that from that perspective relationships were a categorically unacceptable security risk, but knew better than to say that.  Instead he said, “We were together for two years.  When she found out who I really was she tried to kill me and then disappeared.  I was transferred to another assignment and got on with my life.”

“Going from that, you could just as easily be talking about you and me.”

From her tone, Michael could tell that Fiona was upset about that and although he couldn’t begin to fathom _why,_ he thought he knew what to do about it.  “I could, Fi, in a lot of ways.  Natalya’s a lot like you, and the connection we had was similar to what there was between you and I in Ireland.  But this?  What I have with you now?  That could never have happened with her.”

Fiona uncrossed her arms, although her expression didn’t change.  “Why not?”

“Because you came after me, Fi, and she didn’t.  She never would have.

Fiona looked like she was about to say something, but then Clint tapped on the door.  “Westen,” he said, his voice muffled slightly by the glass between them,

“Doctor Banner and the others are back from downstairs.  You’re gonna want to hear this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] That's because you never looked for me.  
> [2] That's not true! I came back and you were gone!  
> [3] I don't believe you. Michael Westen is not sentimental. When he can't use you anymore he forgets about you.  
> [4] Natashenka... (This is a diminutive form of Natalya that might be used for a lover or a young child).


	5. Chapter 5

Previously:

_“So...if Dad wasn’t my dad...who was?”_

_“Tony Stark.”_

_“Are you serious?”_

 

_“Barton?”_

_“Westen?”_

_“Tony!”_

_“Madeline?!”_

_“Natalya..."_

 

 _“Why didn’t_ you _tell me?”_

_“I have a question, why didn’t you tell_ me _?”_

_“Why didn’t you tell me?!”_

_“I_ deserved _to get shot with a mac-10?!”_

_“Yes.”_

_“We were together for almost two years.  Then he turned out to be an American spy sent to investigate the organization I was working with.”_

_“What I have with you now?  That could never have happened with her.”_

_“Doctor Banner and the others are back from downstairs.  You’re gonna want to hear this.”_

 

* * *

 

Nate, Tony, Bruce, and Madeline had all come back upstairs and taken unoccupied seats.  

“So,” said Bruce, “I have the test results.” He held up a sheet of paper with a graph and a lot of incoherent looking letters and numbers.  “This probably doesn’t look like meaningful information to anyone but me and Tony, and it’s been...suggested that I shouldn’t get into the technical details.  The short version is that it’s a match.  Nate and Tony share about 50% of their DNA, making them either father and son or full siblings, and since Nate’s mitochondrial DNA matches Mrs. Westen and Tony’s doesn’t, we can pretty conclusively rule out the latter.”

“Okay, wow,” said Nate, “I think I need to sit down.”

“You are sitting down,” said Michael.

“Oh.  Then I think I need a drink.”

“I second that,” said Tony, “and third it.”

Pepper wordlessly got glasses of scotch for Nate and Tony.  

Once he’d had some of his drink, Tony said “So what happens now?  Do I take you to a baseball game or something?”

Nate laughed.  “I don’t think so.  But maybe we could talk about this somewhere not in front of everyone we both know?”

At that moment, two tall blond men entered the room.  Both were over six feet tall, and now that they were indoors and around people, they looked uncomfortable in freshly dirty jeans and T-shirts.  

The taller one, with hair down to his shoulders, looked around the room and asked, “Are you celebrating already?”

Tony looked up at him, obviously confused. “Celebrating what?

 “Our victory.”

“What victory?”

“We have installed the hive!  In a years time we shall be able to make mead!”

“The hive...?” Tony blanched.

“The beehive,” said the shorter one, “in the garden?  On the roof?”

“You mean to tell me that while all this has been going on, you’ve been installing a box of stinging insects on the roof of _my_ building?!”

“Tony,” said Pepper, “this is part of the environmental effort.  Honeybees are in desperately short supply, and if we have them, a lot of people will follow suit.  With systemic pesticides killing off so many of the ones used for agriculture, urban beekeeping may be the future of the survival of the species.  And Thor said he’d teach me how to make mead.”

“And you couldn’t have warned me?”

“I thought you might react badly.  No idea why I might have thought that.”

“Stinging insects.  On my roof.”

“So,” said the shorter one, “not to be rude, but who are all these people?”

“Oh, right,” said Pepper, “this is Nate Westen, Michael Westen, Madeline Westen, Fiona Glenanne, and Sam Axe.  And may I introduce Thor Odinson and Captain Steve Rogers.”

“It’s an honor, sir,” said Sam, standing up to shake Steve’s hand.  Fiona crossed her arms and made a noise that sounded like _hmph._ Greetings were exchanged, some more enthusiastic, or more wary, than others.  Thor seemed more or less oblivious to the tension and introduced himself warmly to everyone, even kissing Madeline’s hand, and Fiona’s, much to the latter’s consternation.  

“First you guys, and now a box of bees on my roof.  The only way this could get any worse is if...” Tony trailed off as something in his pocket started beeping.  He pulled out an object the approximate size and shape of a marble cut in half, essentially transparent but somehow illuminated from within by pulsating turquoise light.  He held it flat in the palm of his hand and a 2-dimensional image of a man with short hair, wearing a suit, appeared above it.  

“Mr. Stark,” said the man, “we have a situation.”

   


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the short chapter. This was going to be a lot longer but I'm still deciding whether to include the events that follow. Also, there are references here to another story I wrote, which I subsequently took down because it wasn't working. Also, a little bit of the Russian in Chapter 4 has been edited. This should only matter to people who actually speak Russian, because the English translation remains unchanged, but this may be more accurate, and it definitely comes out better on Google Translate.

    “I’m sorry,” said Tony, “we’re not accepting any new situations at this time.”

    “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.  Hello, Michael Westen.”

    Michael made a perplexed face.  “Who’s Michael Westen?”

    “Michael Westen, formerly of the US Army and the Central Intelligence Agency, you fought in Afghanistan and then Somalia, and have done covert work in Russia, Ireland, and parts of Africa and the Middle East.  Your friends over there are Fiona Glenanne, an arms broker and former IRA operative, and Sam Axe, a former Navy Seal.  Shall I go on?”

    “You’ve made your point,” said Michael warily.  “Let’s introduce ourselves properly.  Hi, I’m Michael Westen, nice to meet you...”

    “Agent Phil Coulson.  But I’m afraid we don’t have time for pleasantries.  Mr. Stark it has come to our attention, alarmingly recently, that a terrorist group called Наше Лучшье[1] has set up a headquarters in New York, and is preparing to launch a biochemical attack using the same virus as the one they planned for Moscow last month.”

    “I don’t understand,” said Natasha, “there’s nothing _left_ of Наше Лучшье.”

     “Except for Aleksandr Dimitrovich Mikhailov.”

    “Mikhailov?  Wasn’t he the one who was kind of...pathetic?”

    “Sasha was fanatically loyal to the cause,” said Natasha, “and to Nikolay.  If he’s still alive, I’m not surprised he’s trying to carry on his work.  But how can he still be alive?”

    Coulson shrugged.  “Healing factor?  Or just good luck.  It’s definitely him though, and the attack is probably planned for the next couple of days.  We need this taken care of yesterday.”

    “Why us?,” asked Tony.  

    “Barton and Romanov are the closest operatives we have.  And you have the resources to put together an antidote.  And Russian speakers for the two man team you’ll need to get inside.”

    Michael looked at Natasha and then at Coulson.  “How did you-?”

    “I know everything.  ID badges, entry codes, plans for the building and a dossier containing what little we know about this virus are being delivered to Stark Tower right now.”

    A round green gem set in the bracelet Pepper was wearing started flashing.  She tapped it, said “I’ll be right down,” and left the room.

    “Mister Westen,” said Coulson, “you should know that S.H.I.E.L.D. will...appreciate your help on this.”  And with that the image of his face disappeared.

    “Yeah,” said Tony to the empty air above his hand, “you’re welcome for us taking care of your terrorist problem.  It’s not like I was doing anything else today.”          

    Pepper returned with two ID badges and a stack of paper.  She gave the badges and some documents to Michael and Natasha, a smaller stapled packet to Bruce, a single printed sheet of paper and four small packets with photographs on the front to Steve, and then set down what looked like the building plans on the table. Bruce immediately started reading through his stuff.  Natasha set down hers on the table and looked expectantly at Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Pronounced something like "Nashe Luchsh'ye" and means approximately "ours is better/best".


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks for information used in this and future chapters goes to [Ian](http://kiahl.deviantart.com/), my resident mutant specialist. 
> 
>   
> 
> There is a lot of Russian in this chapter. Translations are in the end notes. If demand is sufficient, I may post a version where all the dialog is in English, and just note where it’s supposed to be in Russian. As always, I invite you to tell me if I make mistakes, since my Russian is less than great.

            Tony didn’t own any vehicles that wouldn’t draw attention, so Michael and Natasha took a cab most of the way to their destination.  They got out several blocks away, and started walking.

            “Это так же, как в старые времена, Мишенка.”[1]

            “How exactly does it work that you get to call me Мишенка?”

            “You betrayed me.”

            “You betrayed me, too!”

            “Less.”

            Michael wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he refocused on tactics.  “We should speak Russian from here on out.  If they ask around about us, we don’t want people two blocks away saying we spoke English like Americans.”

            Natasha nodded but didn’t say anything.  Michael recognized the look on her face as the one she got when she was mentally transitioning into a cover ID.  She didn’t take on new identities as quickly as Michael, but with a little time the transformation was much more complete, and much less reliant on intensity of personality or people’s assumptions about a certain type of person. 

            “Мы надо пить эти,” she said after a few minutes, handing him a small vial full of an unnaturally bright blue liquid.[2]  
  
            “Что это?”[3]

            “Капитан не рассказал тебе?”[4]

            “Нет, он рассказал мне только ‘сыворотки’.”[5]

            “Эти ‘мутант сыворотки’.  Эти будет позволят нам казаться мутантов.”[6]

            “Как эти работают?” Michael eyed the vial suspiciously.[7]

            “Вирусный генной терапииб но...быстрее.”[8]

            “Постоянно?” [9]

             “Нет, но у етих есть...странные ресультаты” [10]

             Michael’s look of suspicion deepened, but having once gotten in this far he didn’t have a lot of choice.  And in any case, he’d found you don’t get nearly as far by _not_ doing things.  Before he had time to think himself out of it, he drank the contents of the vial in one gulp. 

            It tasted terrible, sour and metallic like licking an open cut, combined with something musty and dangerous that he was somehow sure was exactly how spiders tasted. 

            “Интересно,” said Natasha. [11]

            “Что?” [12]  
  
            “Такое же дело ранше случался.” [13]

            “Такие же ‘результаты’?” [14]

            “Да,” Natasha switched to English for the technical vocabulary, “It’s just perceptual.  I can see energy outside of the visual spectrum.”

            “Like what?”

            “Infrared, ultraviolet, X-rays like you’re putting out right now.”

            “Like...I’m putting out?”

            “You’re also glowing in the visible spectrum.”

            “How do I stop?”

            “Непрекращай, это полезный.  Но прекращай рентгеновские лучи, эти опасные.” [15]

            “ _Как?_ "  [16]

            “Я не знаю. Как ты излучат?” [17]

            Michael didn’t answer the question.  He closed his eyes, his face talking on the same look of calm but intense focus as it did when he broke into safes. 

            “Лучшье?” [18]

            “Да.  Ты думаещь ты можно менять цвет твоего света?” [19]

            Michael nodded once and the cloud of light around him became gradually more visible as it shifted from white to brighter white to purple and then blue. 

            _Весело? [20]  
_

            He _was_ having fun, figuring out the kind of mental pressure needed to tell the energy permeating and radiating from his body how it was supposed to act.  But all he said was “Голубизна хорошая?” [21]

            “Безупречно.  Мы Пришли.” [22]

            The front lobby of the building looked like pretty much any mixed use professional building: spacious, brightly lit, and painted a color that could have been called seafoam if it were lighter and more saturated, with a pair of elevators on one wall and windows across most of the front.  The signs that there was anything unusual going on there were subtle: the absence of a directory on the wall, several very visibly armed guards, and a front desk staffed by two guys with short haircuts who started watching Michael and Natasha the moment they stepped through the door.

            _Please don’t get your feathers ruffled about a woman taking the lead._

Natasha strode over to the front desk and flashed her security badge, speaking very quickly in Russian.  Michael hung back, allowing her to take the lead and waiting for some signal of what he was supposed to do next.  Michael liked to plan everything out in advance, so that there would be no question of what to do in any eventuality, but Natasha didn’t, and there was no point in laying out a plan if she wouldn’t follow it.  So he waited until Natasha said “Идите слюда!”

            Michael approached hesitantly, wiping his hands on the white lab coat he was wearing as though to get rid of excess sweat.

            “З-здраствите,” he said, “меня зовут Игор К-казимирович Соколов.” [23]

            “Он новый.” explained Natasha.  “Он осматривать системой распределения.” [24]

            “Рочему меня не рассказывают он шёл слюда?” One of the guys asked. [25]

            “Вы знаете Сашу последнее время...” [26]

“Безумный”, Michael half whispered, saying what he was fairly sure they were both thinking. [27]

The guard nodded once, and glanced around nervously as though he thought someone might be watching.

Taking his agreement as permission to pass, Natasha and Michael walked past him without another word and got into one of the elevators.  Natasha tapped the shimmering dark gray stone on the necklace she was wearing and whispered “We’re in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. It's just like old times, Mishenka.  
> 2\. We have to drink this.  
> 3\. What is it?  
> 4\. The Captain didn't tell you?  
> 5\. He only told me "serum"  
> 6\. It's "mutant serum". It will make us seem to be mutants.  
> 7\. How does it work?  
> 8\. Viral gene therapy but...faster.  
> 9\. Is it permanent?  
> 10\. No but it has...strange effects.  
> 11\. Interesting  
> 12\. What?  
> 13\. The same thing happened before.  
> 14\. The same 'effects'?  
> 15\. Don't stop, it's useful. But stop the X-rays, they're dangerous.  
> 16\. How?  
> 17\. I don't know, how are you emitting them?  
> 18\. Better?  
> 19\. Yes. Do you think you can change the color of your light?  
> 20\. Having fun?  
> 21\. Is light blue good/okay?  
> 22\. Perfect. We're here.  
> 23\. Hello. My name is Igor Kazimirovich Sokolov.  
> 24\. He's new. He's looking at the distribution system.  
> 25\. Why wasn't I told he was coming?  
> 26\. You know how Sasha is these days...  
> 27\. Crazy
> 
> I’m sure Natasha’s technical vocabulary in Russian is excellent, the limitation is Michael’s and also mine. я не знаю как сказат по-русски “energy outside of the visual spectrum”, или “like you’re putting out right now”. And google translate doesn’t take kindly to complex sentence structure. If you’re a physicist who has to talk to Russian physicists, or a Russian physicist, or your Russian grammar is just a lot better than mine, I would love help with translation.
> 
> I'm moving to another state in a week and a half. Progress should continue as steadily as it ever has, but because chapters focusing on Michael and Natasha tend to be Russian heavy, and the things I need to do the translations will be unavailable to me for as much as several months, we probably won't be seeing much more of them for a while.


	8. Chapter 8

“I still don’t understand why I have to be up here with you.”  
“Westen wanted you somewhere safe.” Clint wasn’t particularly happy with the arrangement either, but Michael had insisted and Steve, to the surprise of absolutely no one, had backed him up. Madeline was a lady, and she had to be kept out of harm’s way. He found it interesting how Steve could so comfortably operate within that double standard, treating women with whom he worked the way he would any other part of the team, but every other member of the fairer sex as a delicate flower in need of protection.   
“I could have stayed where I was. Stark Tower is perfectly safe, and I like Dr. Banner.”  
“He said he wanted you with someone he trusts.”  
“And he trusts you?”  
Clint shrugged. “Guess so.”  
Madeline took a drag on her cigarette, “As far as I know, that would make you the only person Michael trusts.”  
“Really?,” Clint made an effort to keep the surprise out of his tone and expression.   
“Yes, really. I don’t even think he trusts Fiona, not really. Certainly not me.”  
Clint started checking and adjusting things on his sniper rifle. He had his bow with him, but they were half a mile away from the extraction site, too far for even him to be confident of making the shot with an arrow.   
“You knew Michael in Somalia?”  
“Yes, Ma’am.”  
“What were you doing down there.”  
“Fighting a war.”  
“When was there a war in Somalia? Or was this one of your secret wars?”  
Clint furrowed his brow a little at that. “Wasn’t secret, Mrs. Westen. We were there ‘92 to ‘94, unseating a dictator.”   
“I didn’t know about that. But then, I wasn’t paying a lot of attention to the news in the early ‘90s. Guess I was too busy raising a rebellious teenager with no support from anyone.”  
“Hmm,” said Clint and then, realising he should say more “sounds hard.” Without thinking he reached for the pack of cigarettes in his jacket pocket, only to realise that he wasn’t wearing a jacket and remember that he’d quit smoking five years ago.   
“It was. Michael was eight already when Nate was born, and he was always such a help. And then when he was 17 and Nate was nine, he just left.”  
“That would’ve been when he joined the Army.”  
“That didn’t make him any less gone.”  
“Wasn’t saying it did, Ma’am, just making sure I had the timeline straight. Westen wasn’t one for talking about the past, even back when I knew him.”  
“I was meaning to ask you,” said Madeline, taking another drag, “what was it that that young woman, Natalya, said, that you said it didn’t sound like Michael?”  
“She said, uh, my Russian’s not great, but...Michael Westen is not sentimental. When  
he can’t...use you he forgets about you.”  
“Well that doesn’t sound like Michael at all!”  
Clint considered asking Mrs. Westen if he could borrow a cigarette, but resisted the  
impulse. Careers like his tended to take a bite out of person’s life expectancy, but at 35 he was starting to become uncomfortably aware that he might actually be around to see the consequences of what he did to his body. “People can change. And sometimes you don’t know them as well as you think.”  
“What’s that supposed to mean?”  
“Musta been Westen showing up that reminded me...there was a woman we served with, Sergent Jenkins. Katheryn. Kat. She did explosives. We were all sorta friends, her and Westen and me. Then she got malaria.”  
“I would have thought everyone got it in place like that.”  
Clint nodded, “Just about. But they gave us stuff for it. Did horrible things to you, but it worked. If you took it. She didn’t.”  
“So what was she…”  
“Selling them. Black market.”  
“Oh.”  
He was about to add that it had been around that time that Michael had left to go work for the fucking CIA, but realised he’d already talked way more than was normal for him or probably appropriate to the situation. It did strike him as odd, though, in his more poetic moments, that the betrayals in his life had always come in pairs. He finished setting everything up, and said “Now we wait. If everything goes according to plan, I won’t have to do anything. If it doesn’t, I could use a spotter.”  
“What would I have to do?”  
“Look through this thing.” He handed her a spotting scope, something he’d half forgotten he still carried around with him. “If you look at a flag or something through it, you can confirm wind speed. If someone attacks us you’re supposed to shoot them, too, but that’s not going to happen.”  
“I don’t think Michael would have told me to go with you if he thought I was going to be shooting people.”  
Clint shrugged. “You won’t. We’re on top of a building in the middle of a major city. Anyone who wanted to attack us would have to get up here first, and that’s not going to happen.”  
“Because you’ll stop them.” I wasn’t a question.  
“Yeah.”  
“You got a gun in there I can use?” Madeline asked, extinguishing her cigarette and gesturing at Clint’s bag. “I left my shotgun at home.”  
“Sure,” said Clint, startled. He wondered if Michael understood how much steel his mother really had in her. He pulled a straightforward looking 9mm pistol from the bag and handed it to her. “You know how to use it?”  
“I’m not going to dignify that with a response,” she said, checking it and then turning off the safety. “Now get back to watching. That’s my son whose back you’re covering.”  
“Yes, ma’am.” Clint smiled at her, then turned back to his scope. Time to watch the fireworks.


	9. Chapter 9

Fiona didn’t look happy. Nate wasn’t especially happy either, but he was mostly hot, sweaty, confused, and a little annoyed at being ordered around, especially by Captain America. Fiona was all of those things, plus having had two people sent along to ‘help’ her, neither of whom really knew what they were doing and one of whom was Tony, whose whole personality seemed almost tailor made to grate against hers. Nate thought that if they were working together of their own accord, they might have been able to make friends over mutual unconcern for danger and an intense loyalty to their friends that was based more on emotion than ideology, but he didn’t say any of that, if for no other reason than he didn’t like to be thought of as the kind of guy who went around using words like ‘ideology’.  
Fiona was tasked with destroying the small house where most of the biochemical agent was stored, ready to be used. Tony was there to protect her and get everyone out in a hurry if it became necessary, and Nate was there in theory to back either of them up as needed, but he suspected that Steve was also trying to put him and Tony together so that they could talk or something. Personally, talking was the last thing Nate wanted to do, at least until he’d had some time to think. This morning, his father had been a drunk, a degenerate gambler and a petty criminal, at best a disruption, at worst a source of abject terror, and dead for more than 10 years. Now…? He couldn’t even begin to get his head around what all of this meant. Tony was a genius, he was successful, he caused some good in the world. He was an alcoholic too, that was obvious, but he seemed to do pretty well despite it. But how much of what a person was, or could be, was determined by genetics or whatever, really, rather than by how they grew up, and the choices they’d already made?  
“Do you need any help?” He asked Fiona, when he realised he’d probably been standing around thinking for too long.  
Fiona looked like she was going to snap at him, then seemed to think better of it. “I really don’t need any help blowing up a house,” she said finally. “Here. If you want something to do you can hold my purse.” She rearranged a number of bags in her hands, eventually handing him the one that wasn’t a plastic grocery bag, and didn’t contain C-4, blasting caps, or anything else likely to go “boom”.  
“Okay.”  
Fiona set to work putting the explosive in place around the outside of the house. When she was done with that they would need to get inside, which would be the tricky, time sensitive part.  
No sooner had she walked away, then Tony joined him under the tree where he was standing, the only shade in the area that would keep them within sight of Fiona.  
“Hi,” he said.  
“Hi,” said Nate. As much as he didn’t want to talk, it was probably better. There were far too many ways this could go, and he couldn’t think about it properly until he knew which way it was actually going.  
“I want - I actually want, to do whatever the right thing to do here is,” said Tony. “But I have no idea what that is.”  
“‘The right thing?’,” said Nate skeptically.  
“The good thing. A good thing. Something good.”  
“Okay.” Nate knew what, generally, Tony was floundering towards, but it was hard to resist the impulse to let him keep splashing around until he screwed it up. Then Nate could take offense, and write him off, and the unnecessary complication would go away.  
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now. And that’s...unusual for me.”  
“Don’t look at me,” said Nate. “You should ask someone who has some idea what good fathers act like.”  
Tony seemed to think about that for a minute. “I don’t think I know anyone like that.”  
“Yeah, me neither.”  
“When you two are finished with your little heart-to-heart,” said Fiona, “we’re all set to go in.”


End file.
